


Raise hell

by When_Tommy_Met_Alfie



Series: When Tommy met Alfie AU [23]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, OMC - Freeform, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, creepy men being creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 03:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14633547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie/pseuds/When_Tommy_Met_Alfie
Summary: A meeting with a potential business partner goes awry when said man takes an interest in Tommy.





	Raise hell

**Author's Note:**

> Filling this request from a kind reader tumblr: Hiya, absolutely ADORE your writing!!!!! Been obsessed with the show for so long and am soooo glad you're doing Tommy and Alfie justice!!!!!!! Would looove another fic dealing with other criminals who are obsessed with Tommy (like your one with Luca), cos let's face it who wouldn't be. And Tommy publicly declaring that he's Alfie's and no one elses.
> 
> Will Tommy ever catch a break in my stories? no, apparently not. Also, disclaimer on the use of valerian in this fic, it’s for want of rohypnol which was patented in the 60s. It’s got sedative effects, but nowhere near as strong as depicted here, even when taken in large doses. Your daily herbal lesson!

“Ollie, for fucks sake, keep your bloody eyes on the road,” Alfie barks at Ollie, who narrowly avoids driving the car into another pothole. “Unbelievable,” he mutters under his breath. Ollie’s incompetent driving normally only bothers him marginally, but Alfie is a bit more on edge than he’d like to admit about the upcoming meeting. 

Tommy’s hand comes up to gently brush against his jaw in a familiar gesture, and he stops gritting his teeth.

“You’ll give yourself a headache,” Tommy points out. “Don’t know why you’re so nervous about this.”

“Would make shit a whole lot easier if we could close this deal,” Alfie scratches his beard and looks through the papers again. “Even the playing field a bit. But I’ve heard this… Taylor, is a bit of a-“  he gestures in search of the right word.

“Character?” Tommy suggests with a quirked eyebrow. 

“Wanker.” 

“Well he’s a wanker who’s got an exporting firm in New York, so play nice.” Tommy says, reaching out to straighten Alfie’s shirt collar a bit, brushing away some lint from his shoulder. “It’s you and me, what could possibly go wrong?”

"If I know us right, absolutely everything,” Alfie grumbles, feeling unusually pessimistic about the whole thing.   

Ollie stops the car outside a rather fancy building overlooking one of the parks. On Mr. Taylor’s insistence, they’re meeting at his office in Brixton, which Alfie very much dislikes. Wrong side of the Thames, innit. Bloody arrogant, too. Anyone familiar with how things work in London knows you don’t just ask Alfie Solomons to come to your office. Alfie hopes Taylor his done his research, and knows to pay due respect.

“Wait out here, alright,” Alfie tells Ishmael and Ollie when they reach the front door. “Try not to create any fucking disasters or nothing.” The pair nod in understanding.   

The man who opens the door has the expression of being utterly bored with his entire existence. 

“Here to see Mr. Taylor, I presume?”

“Right you are mate.” Alfie walks straight past him and into the hallway, scanning the room with disinterest. How is it that people who come into money suddenly lose all sense of style? 

“This way, if you please.” the man gestures towards a corridor and Tommy sets of in this direction, Alfie following close behind.   

Stopping by a door at the end of the corridor, the man gives it a curt knock before opening. 

“Mr. Solomons is here to see you, Sir,” he says, his back shielding the room from view. 

“Well, go on, let him in,” a voice that Alfie instantly dislikes comes from within the office. Probably the New York accent. 

Stepping aside, the man allows for him and Tommy to enter the room. It’s a lavishly decorated place, full of ridiculous looking furniture in dark, polished wood. The man who comes to greet them matches the office rather well –a large fellow dressed in a slightly too small, albeit expensive looking suit. The look of someone who has a large sum of money and doesn’t know how to spend it. In his late fifties perhaps, with a meticulously trimmed beard and dark hair that is turning grey at the temples. Handsome, despite the ill-fitting suit. Alfie wants to punch him in the face.   

“Mr. Solomons,” he extends a hand that Alfie accepts without much enthusiasm. “Glad we could finally meet.” 

“Sure, mate,” Alfie shrugs. “Got to say though, not really worth the trip, innit. Sort of prefer my bakery.” 

A wrinkle appears between Taylor’s eyebrows, but then his eyes shift to Tommy and his expression changes radically. It’s right about then Alfie feels that this whole thing will go straight to hell. 

“And who might this be?” Taylor leers and takes Tommy’s hand, looking him up and down as if he’s a fucking piece of meat he’d like to sink his teeth into. It becomes abundantly clear that he’s new in town. Or just a bloody idiot. Because he isn’t nearly as terrified as he should be.

This was some information about the man none of his sources have divulged: if Alfie had known Taylor had a taste for pretty men, he wouldn’t have brought Tommy along to this thing.   

“Thomas Shelby,” Alfie says and grips the handle of his cane hard enough for his knuckles to whiten. “Business associate.” _The love of my life, who I’d very much like to remove from this office right fucking now._ “Keeps the numbers in order among other things.” 

“Thomas Shelby,” Taylor repeats, without releasing Tommy’s hand. “A pleasure.”

“I’m sure,” Tommy answers coly, meeting his gaze with icy nonchalance. The tension in the room becomes palpable as they stare each other down, 

Taylor finally releases his hand and turns to walk towards his desk. Tommy gives Alfie a look that clearly says ‘keep it together’ and Alfie lets out a breath in acknowledgement. He’s not a bloody animal, he can control himself for long enough to get these papers signed. Even if it means having to watch this man undress Tommy with his eyes the entire meeting. 

“Take a seat,” Taylor gestures towards two chairs, unaware of this exchange, and seats himself behind the desk.  “So…” he rests his elbows on the desk, putting the tips of his fingers together.  “Let’s talk business.” 

Tommy pulls out a cigarette and Alfie wishes he wouldn’t, because he does that thing where he rubs it across his bottom lip before lighting it. It’s not a conscious decision, Alfie knows. Just a habit. But Taylor looks about one second away from bending him over the desk right then and there. And Alfie is equally close to crushing his nose with his cane. 

This is going to be the longest meeting of his entire life.

“It’s pretty straight forward, innit,” Alfie says and leans back in his chair, resting both hands on the handle of his cane. “You need more product to export, we can offer you that.” There’s a hideous painting of a fruit bowl behind Taylor’s head. Alfie glares at it. “Sure, could go to the bloody Italians, but they know shit about liquor, right. Ever tasted wine? Fucking… glorified grape juice, innit. Got no business masquerading as anything but that.”

“Well, that’s the thing,” Taylor begins, giving Tommy a glance before turning his attention fully to Alfie. “See, Darby Sabini is offering the same amount for nearly twenty percent less.”   

“Because it’s shit, mate,” Alfie states. 

“Sabini is in business with Luca Changretta,” Tommy says, taking the role as negotiator as usual. “You might want to ask yourself if that really is the sort of man you’d like to be involved with.”

Taylor leans forward, green eyes boring into Tommy’s.    
  
“I can assure you men like Changretta don’t intimidate me.”

“They probably should,” Tommy retorts icily. At this, Taylor only smirks. 

Tommy refuses to be the first to avert his eyes, and Alfie has a distinct feeling that Taylor is taking this entirely the wrong way. Being the first to break this prolonged eye contact, the man turns back to Alfie.

“So, Mr. Solomons, let’s discuss numbers. I’m willing to give you seventy percent of the asking price.” 

Alfie snorts. “Fuck off.” 

Keeping his face entirely blank, Tommy nudges his shin lightly with the toe of his boot. _Play nice._

“Surely a man of your statue knows to pay for quality,” he says and taps some ash from the cigarette

Eyeing him up and down, Taylor leans back in his seat and puts both hands behind his head. “Guess you’ll just have to convince me, sweetheart.”

Tommy cocks his head a little. “I’m sure I can.”

The meeting drags on: Taylor is an arrogant fuck who doesn’t know who he’s dealing with, Alfie is rapidly running out of patience, and Tommy just tries to keep the whole thing together. 

“Know what, it’s getting late,” Taylor says after what feels like seven years in hell, and gets to his feet. “I propose we finish this meeting elsewhere.”

“Yeah, it’s getting late alright,” Alfie stands too. “So I propose we just sign the fucking papers and get on with our respective evenings.”

“Oh, but it’s not until you’ve had a discussion with a man over a drink that you truly know him,” Taylor says. “I own shares in a club just down the street. Let’s finish this off there.”   

Alfie doesn’t like where this is going.          

“I don’t really drink, mate. Not when doing business, at least.” 

Unpleasant business if there ever was one, drinking with the likes of Taylor. Alcohol tends to bring out the very worst qualities in men like him. And Alfie definitely doesn’t want him anywhere near Tommy in that state. 

“Well, maybe Thomas does,” Taylor leers and walks around the desk to stand much closer to Tommy’s chair than the situation calls for. Tommy looks straight ahead with utter disinterest.

“I do,” he says and puts out his cigarette, before getting to his feet and simultaneously putting some distance between himself and Taylor. “We could probably spare half an hour.” 

“Excellent,” Taylor puts a hand on his back and ushers him towards the door. “A drink and some polite conversation. Then I may sign that contract.” 

Alfie mentally steels himself as he stalks out of the office, attempting to burn a hole in Taylor’s back by digging his eyes into it. This is going to be a long fucking night. 

 

The club looks very much like Alfie imagined it would: vulgar with just a hint of brothel. The walls are covered in dark red wallpaper and more velvet drapes than anyone in their right mind could ever need, and Alfie thinks it must be a fucking fire hazard, all these layers of fabric hanging everywhere. And the fucking chandeliers... What is it with posh folks and all this red and gold bullshit? Alfie ponders this as Taylor leads the way to a booth, gesturing to a server who immediately springs into action, coming up to take his order. 

“What are you drinking?” Taylor gestures for Tommy to sit. Alfie would’ve liked to put himself between the two, in an effort to keep Taylor and his stubby fingers as far away from Tommy as possible. The man sits down right next to Tommy, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind his shoulders.   

“Whiskey,” Tommy tells him and lights his fourth cigarette.

Alfie seats himself on Tommy’s other side. Under the table, Tommy reaches out and quickly gives his knee a reassuring squeeze, a gesture that only mildly succeeds in calming him. 

When the drinks arrive, Taylor pushes one of them towards Tommy, who accepts it without a word.   

“So, tell me a little about yourself.” Taylor downs half his glass in one swig. “How did a pretty boy such as yourself end up in this business?”

“Don’t quite see how that’s relevant,” Tommy retorts and takes a sip of his own whiskey. Alfie doesn’t touch his. He’s going to stay completely sober for the entirety of this meeting. And Taylor is too busy leering at Tommy to notice anyway. 

“When it comes to business, I have realised the more you know about your partners, the better.” Taylor throws back the rest of his whiskey back and gestures for more to be brought in.   

“Well, you should be speaking to Mr. Solomons, then,” Tommy gives a tiny nod in Alfie’s direction. “I just… take care of the figures. But I’m sure he’s got some story to keep us entertained.” 

“Don’t I always, Mr, Shelby?” Alfie smirks, taking the hint before Taylor can protest.

Alfie throws himself into one of his usual speeches in an effort to keep Taylor's attention away from Tommy. He chooses one of his more violent anecdotes, embellishing it with as many gory details as possible.

“And I took the pipe wrench right-“ Alfie illustrates with his hands, keeping his eyes firmly on Taylor. “Large, sturdy thing. Made up in the north. Good quality iron there, mind you-“ he proceeds to very vividly describe the exact sound a bone makes when it’s crushed between two metal jaws. Listening with mild disinterest, Taylor hangs a hand off the back of the sofa, fingertips just gracing Tommy’s shoulder. 

“And you see, when it snaps there, the force of the joints, yeah- works as a spring-“ Alfie reaches out and jabs his finger into the arm Taylor still has resting on the table top, showing exactly where this joint is. “Really is a spectacular fucking thing to behold, right, which brings me to the next point.“ The next point is a very detailed account on how much blood can spurt from a puncture wound made by a snapped bone.

Time passes agonizingly slowly.

Taylor doesn’t seem to mind Alfie’s monologue, as long as there’s a steady flow of alcohol. After finishing his third whiskey, his arm slips off the sofa and down onto Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy shifts away, but doesn’t’ shrug it off completely. The way people do when they politely want to thwart someone’s advances. A more attentive man would take the hint, but Taylor is either too drunk or too much of an idiot to notice. Or perhaps he just doesn’t care. Alfie is quite worried that it’s a combination of the three.

And he’s so close to just taking his cane and driving it straight through his fucking eye…

But Alfie knows Tommy hates it when he gets possessive in public. And it’s not his place, right, to out them in front of this man without Tommy’s consent. But he gives Tommy a quick glance, trying to convey the question of whether he should step in or not. Quirking one of his eyebrows in a tiny gesture, Tommy signals a clear no.

 Gripping his cane hard enough to feel his hand cramp up, Alfie tries to focus his attention on the story he still has going. He’ll just finish it, and then he’ll resort to some more persuasive tactics to make Taylor sign the damn papers, so that he can get Tommy out of here. 

“And then, see, because the arm was so fucking mangled, so I had to-“ he continues, imagining carrying out the actions on the arm Taylor has around Tommy’s shoulders. It’s incredible how long a story can be if one just tries hard enough.

When he’s downed his fourth whiskey, Taylor puts a hand on Tommy’s thigh. In a subtle yet very clear sign that he’s not appreciating the contact, Tommy crosses his ankles and inches away from the touch. The hand just slips further up. Calmly keeping his eyes on Alfie as he listens to him go on, Tommy empties his glass. Meanwhile, Alfie imagines taking the glass, crushing it and then pushing the tiny little splinters of up under Taylor’s nails… 

As if he can read his mind, Tommy looks sternly at him and Alfie resorts to just graphically explaining what happens to an arm if you twist it enough times.

“And yes... that’s about it-“ Alfie suddenly finds himself unable to drag out this story any longer and falls silent. 

“Have to say, Solomons” Taylor chuckles, eyes drooping slightly and face flushed from the alcohol. “You sure know how to tell a story.” He squeezes Tommy a little tighter against his side, giving him a lewd smile. “But now I want to hear more about you, doll. Or perhaps you’re a bit shy, hmm? Is that why you’re so quiet?” 

“It’s getting to be rather late,” Tommy says, ignoring the patronizing comment, and Alfie frowns as he notices the slight slur to his voice. “How about we sign those documents?” 

“Oh, what’s the rush?” Taylor drawls and lets the arm on Tommy's shoulders drop down to his waist, fingers splaying across his hip. “Been a long time since I had such lovely company.” The hand on his leg slips further up, until it’s resting at the very top of his thigh. “And since I had the pleasure of looking at eyes this pretty. Think I’d like to keep you here for a bit.” 

When the hand slides down between his legs, that’s the last drop, even for Tommy.   

“Excuse me for a moment,” he says and stands up, swaying a bit on his feet before managing to steady himself. “I need to get some air.” Alfie is halfway out of his seat and about to bash Taylor’s face in when Tommy gives him the tiniest headshake. He clears his throat. “Why don’t you take out that contract, Solomons?”

With that, he leaves the table, and Alfie is forced to watch Taylor’s eyes linger on his backside as he crosses the dancefloor heading towards the exit.   

It feels a lot like his brain has just melted and is about to start pouring out his ear. Taylor seems wholly pleased with the situation. Nothing like thinking you’re about to get laid to get a man in a good mood... If this was Tommy’s plan, it’s worked out rather well from a business point of view.

“I’ll be honest with you, Solomons,” he leans back in his chair and pulls out a cigar that he lights up. “I’d like to close this deal. Wasn’t quite planning to at the beginning of this evening… price is still too high-“ he lets out a puff of smoke. “But you know what, with the way things are going, I might just have changed my mind.” 

“Think you have to clarify this a bit,” he says icily. Taylor offers a shrug and a smug grin, as if they’ve got some kind of unspoken understanding between them.

“He’s a pretty little thing, isn’t he, your… secretary,” he says the last word with clear mockery. “Doesn’t talk much, that’s nice.” He draws in smoke. “Always liked them that way. Shy. It’s rather endearing.” 

Alfie is silent for once.

“Better that he’s quiet,” Taylor muses. “I’ve got a few other plans for that mouth of his.”

Alfie has trouble fully taking in what this man is saying, and just stares at him in disbelief for a moment. 

“So, here’s what I propose…” Taylor leans in. “When he gets back, you excuse yourself and leave. Give me the rest of the night alone with him. Then I’d be more than willing to sign that contract. I’ll even give you the full asking price.”

“Pretty sure he’s not interested,” Alfie says and feels his eyelid twitch. Tommy is going to be so fucking pissed if he blows this. Especially after having to endure Taylor’s groping. 

“Oh, I know his type,” Taylor chuckles. “Give me an hour and the opportunity to pour a few more drinks into him and he’ll be gagging for it.” 

Right. That’s it. Alfie will just have to violently murder this man, to hell with everything. 

“Well, I happen to know a thing or two about  _his type_ as well, mate,” he grits out, pinning Taylor with his eyes as he considers how to go about it. Shoot him? Wring his neck with his bare hands? “Enough to tell you that you’re wasting your time.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Taylor says smugly and turns his attention towards the dancefloor, where Tommy approaches. Alfie notices at once that something is off. Tommy’s normally so determined steps seem unsteady, as if he’s not had one drink but closer to ten. 

Walking up to the booth, Tommy rests his hands on the table top to support himself, swaying precariously on his feet. His eyes are glazed over and there’s an unhealthy pallor to his skin. 

“This deal ain’t happening,” he slurs, struggling to focus on Taylor. “See, because, you clearly want more out of it and I’m… very much in bed with this man right here.” He points to Alfie. “And he takes care of me-“ A dazed little smile crosses his lips. “Treats me right…And fucks me _so_ good. Bloody ridiculous to think that I’d ever be interested in you.” 

Had it not been for Tommy’s quite concerning state of delirium, Alfie would’ve grinned at this proclamation.   

Taylor goes an alarming shade of red, but Alfie pays very little attention to him now, getting to his feet. He just barely manages to catch Tommy as his knees buckle. 

“Tommy, you okay?” he steadies Tommy with his arms, holding him against his chest.

“I don’t feel so good,” Tommy mutters, eyes slipping closed. “Everything’s… blurry.” Alfie has to tighten his grip around him as he sags completely in his arms, head dropping heavily against his shoulder.   

Scanning the room for Ishmael and Ollie, Alfie gestures for them to come over and the crowd parts as the two men hurriedly cross the floor. A few curious glances are cast in their direction, but people know not to look too close.

“Get him outside,” he tells Ishmael and carefully deposits Tommy in his arms “Bring the car around.” Tommy’s head lolls back and he takes a shaky breath, reaching out for him as he fights against his uncooperative lips to form a word.

“Alfie-“ 

“I’ll be right with you,” Alfie promises. “Just going to finish this off first, okay?” He gives a nod to Ishmael, who promptly hefts the now quite unresponsive Tommy up in his arms and carries him towards the exit. Ollie follows close behind. 

Alfie wrenches Taylor out of his seat and pushes him up against the wall. The man stares wide eyed at Alfie, the adrenaline knocking him out of his drunken stupor. 

“What did you give him?” 

“Hey now, I didn’t-“ Taylor cuts himself off as his head collides with the wall. 

In the background, the music has stopped playing, but Alfie hardly notices. 

“You fucking heard me,” he spits. “Or can’t your posh bloody ears understand the accent?” 

“Valerian, nothing dangerous, just to make him relax a bit,” Taylor splutters, grimacing in pain “Hell, if I’d known you were fucking him I wouldn’t-“ 

He doesn’t get to finish this sentence either, because his face meets with the table top in a rather violent fashion. Alfie’s only planning on bashing him up a little, really. _I’ve got a few other plans for that mouth of his_. 

Yeah, to hell with everything.

It’s like scratching an itch that’s been bothering him for hours –pure and utter bliss to smash that smug face into the table top, two, three, four times- All. These. Fucking. Men. Taylor flails and kicks, but is quite helpless against his grip. Alfie just barely manages to stop before he knocks him unconscious. 

“Now, you listen to me,” he says softly, leaning down. “First of all, you ain’t buying shit from the Italians, alright? No matter the prize.”   

Taylor lets out a gurgling sound, adding some more red to the vulgar décor as he spits up a mouthful of blood. Alfie pushes his head harder into the table  

“And if I were you, I’d start looking over my shoulder every once in a while. Just a little friendly advice. See, I don’t take kindly to people like you. Rich, entitled fucks who thinks it’s their right to put their fucking hands on every pretty thing they come across.” He twists his arm and hears a satisfying cracking from the shoulder joint. “And I might just decide to finish this off.” 

With that, Alfie releases him and Taylor crumbles to the floor in a limp heap, making another noise. Giving him a hard kick for good measure, Alfie turns to leave, facing the terrified clientele. 

“Oi, what happened to the bloody music?” He draws his gun and points it to the mortified band, who scramble to get their sheet music in order. “And you lot, go back to the fucking dancing, yeah? Nothing to see here.” 

The crowd parts quickly as he passes through it. 

Out on the street, Ollie has pulled up the car and Ishmael is sitting in the back with Tommy, holding his shoulders and shaking him roughly in an unsuccessful attempt to gain a response.

“He’s completely out of it,” he states and shakes his head as Alfie climbs into the car. “Drugged?”

Alfie hums in confirmation, cupping Tommy’s face with both hands

“Tommy, love, can you hear me?” 

Tommy’s eyes open a tiny sliver, glassy and unfocused. 

A wrinkle appears between his eyebrows and he stretches out a hand towards Alfie’s blood stained shirt, “You okay?” the words are just barely coherent.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Alfie frowns. “How're you feeling?” 

Tommy opens his mouth again, struggling to form words and only succeeding in an incoherent noise. He blinks rapidly a few times, but can’t seem to keep his eyes open. His head feels increasingly heavy in Alfie’s grip.   

“Hospital?” Ollie asks, glancing over his shoulder as he pulls out on the street.

Alfie weighs his options for a moment, frantically searching his mind for any sort of memory involving valerian- he doesn’t want to take Tommy to a hospital, he wants to take him home. Lock him in a room and make sure nothing can ever happen to him again… 

“Know what he used?” Ishmael’s question pulls him out of these thoughts. 

“Valerian. Know fuck all about it, but whatever it is, it did one hell of a job.” 

“It should be alright,” Ishmael says, giving Tommy a onceover. “Just a sedative. He’ll be completely out of it for a few hours, but unless it’s a very high dose, a good night’s sleep is all he needs.” 

Tommy grasps weakly at Alfie’s coat sleeve, quite distraught over his inability to express himself. 

 Alfie furrows his brow. “Since when do you know shit like that?”

“My wife is good with these things,” Ishmael shrugs, “Herbal medicine and all that.” 

Alfie decides to take his word for it.

“Hear that, sweetheart?” He gently dislodges Tommy’s hand from his sleeve. “It’ll be fine. Just sleep for a bit. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Finally giving up the battle to stay conscious, Tommy slumps against Alfie’s side, completely out within seconds.

Sighing, Alfie puts a heavy hand on top of his head, steadying it against his shoulder as the car swerves another corner. 

“Fucking hell, what a night,” he grumbles and rubs an eye with the heel of his hand. “Too much to ask for things to run smoothly for once, innit.” 

Ollie drives like an absolute madman, but Alfie finds himself not minding one bit. The sooner they get home the better. 

“He does attract a lot of trouble, doesn’t he?” Ishmael nods to Tommy. 

“Like moths to a bloody flame,” Alfie sighs again and leans back in his seat, holding Tommy a bit tighter. 

 Ishmael’s lip curls in what appears to be an almost fond little smile.

“You sure know how to pick’em, boss,” he states. “Suppose he must be worth it.”

Running his hand through his hair, Alfie looks down at the man passed out in his arms. Tommy looks quite peaceful now, lips slightly parted and long eyelashes resting lightly against the pale skin.   

“Yeah. He’s worth it alright.”

  ...

Alfie doesn’t get much sleep that night. He sits on a chair by their bed, trying to make the time pass by reading, but having a hard time focusing as his eyes constantly slip to Tommy. To make sure he’s still breathing. Maybe he should’ve gone to a hospital, but it’s no use thinking about it now. If there was one thing the war taught him, it’s that once you’ve made a decision, you stick to it, and don’t spend time second guessing your choice. It’s just that with Tommy, all his rational thinking seems to go out the window. 

And Alfie is overwhelmed by that feeling again: that it’s only a matter of time before things go to hell. He shouldn’t have let Tommy come to the meeting, should’ve tried to come up with some excuse to go alone. He’s got to keep him safe somehow. Fuck, he wants to take Tommy away from this, far away, where nothing bad can happen- 

This is what he gets for being in love with someone hell-bent on getting himself killed. He knew what he was getting himself into, didn’t he, all those months ago? If Tommy isn’t already in trouble, he’ll go find it.

Then again, Alfie wouldn’t change a single thing about him even if he could.  

Tommy comes to well into the following morning, reaching across the mattress for the comfort of a body that isn’t there. Getting up from his slumped position in the chair and seating himself on the edge of the bed instead, Alfie takes the hand and draws his first truly deep breath in hours when Tommy opens his eyes and looks up at him. 

“Morning,” he grins brightly. “Look who’s finally awake.” 

Tommy blinks a few times, and some of the familiar sharpness return to his gaze. It’s a most welcomed sight. Then he opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a dry cough. Reaching for the glass of water on the bedside table, Alfie helps him drink a few mouthfuls.

“What happened last night?” Tommy rasps out when his throat is no longer parched. He attempts to sit up, but slumps back against the pillows with a pained grimace, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “Fuck, feels like I’ve been hit by a ton of bricks.”   

“How much do you remember?” Alfie asks, watching as the gears turn in Tommy’s head. 

“You told that ridiculous story about the pipe wrench,” he mutters after a while 

“Flattered that detail stuck with you, love.”

He’s silent as he waits for Tommy to get his head in order 

“He put something in my drink,” Tommy states finally. “Taylor. Or had someone else do it.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I should’ve noticed.” He looks up at Alfie again. “Dare I ask what you did to him?” 

“Well, let’s just say that the deal probably is off,” Alfie scratches his beard and Tommy lets out a weary sigh. “Not that I regret it though. Should’ve done something earlier, is more like it.” 

“No, you shouldn’t have,” Tommy says defiantly. “It’s not your job to fend off men.” 

“It bloody well is,” Alfie mutters. “Wasn’t that important,” he adds. “Not worth sitting through all that. I’m sorry, right, if I made you feel like you had to.” 

“It was important,” Tommy states. “And it was going fine until that little hitch. I had everything under control.” 

“A man drugged you, and you call that a hitch?” Alfie grunts. “Fuck know what he would’ve done if you’d been alone with him-“ 

“In what situation would I have been alone with him?” Tommy retorts. “Ollie and Ishmael were there. Think they would’ve let him drag me off to some back room?” He makes it sound like a ridiculous idea, and Alfie thinks that he’s being naïve, a word that rarely comes to mind in connection with Tommy. “We’re in this business, Alfie. Shit like this is an occupational hazard.

The bedroom falls silent as they stare each other down. It’s the one thing they can’t quite reach an understanding on: Tommy’s negligence of his own safety, and Alfie’s consequent overprotectiveness. 

“I don’t like it when you pull shit like that,” Alfie states. “No deal is worth-“ 

“This one was,” Tommy cuts him off. “Plenty of them are.” He closes his eyes against the pain in his head, gathering himself before speaking again. “Two years ago, I would’ve acted very differently during that meeting,” he says and lets out a humourless chuckle. “Think I would’ve cared about some groping if I could close a deal like that?”  

Of course not, Alfie knows that. But he’d rather not think about it.

“What changed then?” he challenges, realising he's doing something dangerously close to sulking. 

“You, you fucking idiot.” Tommy pokes him in the side with a toe.  “Thought that was pretty obvious.” 

Alfie doesn’t respond, but he feels the wrinkle between his eyebrows smooth out a bit. 

“Know what, if you want to be my knight in shining armour, you can,” Tommy stretches his leg out and rests it on his lap. “You could… fetch the cigarettes in my coat.” 

Alfie can’t help it; it’s impossible to be stern and disapproving with Tommy when he’s being like this. He runs his hand down the side of his calf and Tommy grants him one of his sweetest smiles, effectively tearing down the last of his resolve. Completely wrapped around his little finger, he is.   

And nothing really happened, right? 

He settles for just grumbling, “Men are the fucking worst,”

“Yes, the absolute worst,” Tommy agrees. “Now go. Then you can get into bed with me for a while. Looks like you could use some sleep.” 

“Fine. I recall you saying that I take good care of you,” Alfie leans down and kisses his forehead. “Suppose I have to live up to that statement.” 

“I was high.”   

Alfie pauses in the doorway. “Still true, though.”

“Yeah,” Tommy smiles at him again. “Still true.”

 


End file.
